Return to Cyprus
by Alison Keating
Summary: In winter 1995, Mickey Kostmayer is lost and feared dead during a crisis between the Greeks and the Turks on Cyprus. Can Robert McCall and his wife, Barbara Williams, save him and avert disaster? #1 in the Barbara Williams/Robert McCall series.
1. Chapter 1

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 1**

McCall opened his eyes and immediately looked over to the woman next to him. Something had awakened him. Had she called out, he asked himself? No, she was still asleep, thank goodness. A few hours ago she had looked all of her almost fifty-five years, but now, in sleep, the face was smoother, and she looked calm.

There was the noise again. Damn, the phone. He had turned off the phone in the bedroom, but not in the office next door. Who was calling them here, at this hour? Scott? Oh, God, Scott. He was the only one who would call. Nobody else was supposed to call. Everyone who knew them, really knew them, knew not to call.

The phone burred. Grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, McCall hurried across the room, closed the door and made his way to the still burring phone. He picked it up, "Scott? What's wrong?"

"Robert," said the voice.

"Bloody hell, Control, I told you NEVER to call me here."

"It's important, Robert," Control said in that infuriatingly calm voice.

"To you it's always important, Control. To you. I don't work for you anymore, can't you remember that?" Robert snarled.

"It's about Kostmayer."

"What about Kostmayer?"

"He's missing."

"Missing? When did this happen? Where?"

"Last night. In Cyprus."

"Cyprus? You sent him to Cyprus? Again?"

"Robert, you know he's the best. Of course I sent him to Cyprus."

"What was the mission?"

"I can't tell you the details now. Your phone isn't secure."

McCall thought for a second, then asked, knowing full well what the answer was: "Why are you calling me?"

"We need your help, yours and Barbara's."

"Why us?"

"Because you're the best, too."

To Control, it was just that simple, thought McCall. But it wasn't that simple. No, we can't do it. No, SHE can't do it, not now, he vowed.

"Control, you must be able to find someone else."

"Robert, who would you suggest?" Exasperation tinged Control's voice. "How many agents do you know who are as good as you and Barbara?"

Knowing just how to get to McCall, he added: "It's Mickey we're talking about."

McCall knew he was right, but still he didn't want to think about it. Barbara and Mickey, beside Scott and Yvette, the two most important people in his life. Would he have to choose? To save Mickey, Barbara could be lost. No, it's not fair. Fair, what a joke. Nothing's ever fair…. He HAD to choose, he knew.

"Control, I won't get Barbara involved."

"She has to be involved."

"You have no idea how bad it is."

"I do, Robert. I read Dr. Stephen's report."

"You did WHAT? That was privileged information. You had no right, you bastard."

Control waited until McCall's anger subsided.

"We still need her." Control paused: "Mickey needs her."

"No." McCall could hardly believe he was saying it, but he had to choose.

For once, McCall had surprised Control. Was he actually going to turn him down? He had to think fast.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"And what might that be?" McCall snapped back.

"Barbara. Do you think Barbara would want you to make decisions for her?"

Damn him, McCall thought, damn him on so many levels, but damn him, he's right. Barbara would be livid if she thought he was making choices for her.

"Robert? Ask her."

He and Control both knew what her answer would be. But I am not going to ask her, McCall thought. I will not ask her.

"I've sent a courier with the information you'll need. She should be there soon."

Soon. The courier was already on her way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter Two**

Barbara knew the phone was ringing. She just didn't want to open her eyes. She was too tired to open her eyes. And she didn't want Robert to notice that she was awake. He wanted her to sleep, after what had happened last night.

Who was calling, she asked herself? They're not supposed to call here. Leave us alone. Leave me alone. Though after last night she wasn't sure the plan was working anyway. Maybe it didn't matter, she thought.

It had been three weeks since the last time, and they both had hoped getting away from New York would make the…. She could never decide what to call them. Events? OK, that's good enough for now, she decided, forsaking her usual precision…. They both had hoped getting away would make the "events" disappear.

But last night it had happened again. She was sitting there, looking out at the lights of Florence in the distance. Robert was reading. Some nice music. No stress, she wasn't even tired when she began to feel it: the drug was pushing her again, pushing her back. Then she was there, back in East Germany, in the place she thought she had locked away in her mind long ago. Back in that room in the prison in a country that didn't even exist anymore.

Robert had seen it coming. He could always tell. He had moved to sit next to her, to hold her, willing her to stay with him and not go back. But it never worked. Anymore than it worked for her to will herself to stay. She had to go back.

Funny, she had read recently that they were turning the prison into a museum. Maybe she could go back and visit the room, she told herself. What would that be like, especially now, after the drug?

Shit, here I am thinking about it again. My thoughts are so scattered. Damn, damn it all to hell, she thought. She almost started crying, but then she heard Robert coming. Control yourself, Barbara, she commanded herself.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?"

"Like I have a bad hangover," she said with a little smile. They knew her usual description was inadequate. "Did you at least get a few hours sleep? Why are you up so early?"

Robert got back in bed and wrapped his arms around her. Through the window, they could see wisps of color as the sun rose over the fields that lay between their villa and Florence. Their magic villa inTuscany. Oh, how he hated this intrusion.

She sensed his hesitation and asked: "Is something wrong?"

"I was talking on the phone."

Grasping his hand, she asked: "Robert, is it Scott? Is something wrong with Scott?" Why hadn't she thought of that before, she questioned. Stupid, I am so muddled….

"No, it isn't Scott."

"Then who were you talking to?"

He didn't answer.

She was getting aggravated, impatient person that she was. It was all well and good to have a man take care of you – at least some of the time – but it took some getting used to. My goodness, they could be annoying, she felt.

"It was Control."

The muscles in her face tensed. She should have known. Control, a man she hated more than she had hated anyone in her life. He was Robert's friend, one of those funny kinds of friendships men have, so she tolerated Control's presence in their lives, but only barely. And here he was, interfering again.

"What did he want?" As if she didn't know.

"He said he needed…" McCall had almost slipped up but caught himself in time. "…me."

"Well, what else is new? He needed you for what?"

"I told him no."

"Just like that, you told him no?" She turned to look into his eyes.

"Yes."

"Robert, you're not telling me the truth."

"I always tell the truth."

"Yes, yes, I know, you always tell the truth. You just don't tell all of it. What is the rest of it? What did he want you for?"

I am not going to tell her, McCall thought. I am NOT going to tell her. He said nothing.

Barbara was starting to worry now. This was as close to a lie as she had ever heard from him. There was something very wrong, and he wasn't telling her. He already said it wasn't Scott. What could it be, she wanted to know?

Then it hit her. If she hadn't been so muddled she would have understood before. It was Mickey. Something had happened to Mickey.

"Robert, it's about Mickey, isn't it?"

This time he looked into her eyes. Fine, she had got that far, McCall thought. Maybe he could still get around her. He looked away and said: "Yes."

"For God's sake, Robert, what about Mickey? He isn't….?"

"No. Well, as far as Control knows, he's still alive."

She unwrapped herself from his embrace and turned to face him, angry now.

"Stop it. Just stop it. Tell me RIGHT NOW what is going on, or so help me I'll… I'll…" She grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her.

What should he say now, McCall thought? He didn't know how to lie to her.

She raised her voice, demanding: "When did it happen? How? What was the mission?"

"It happened yesterday. Control couldn't tell me more. Our phone isn't secure."

Damn, he still wasn't telling her all of it, she knew it. What else was there, what else? What was he hiding from her? She wanted to shake it out of him. Instead, she lay back against the pillows and tried to relax. She would put the pieces together. She could figure it out for herself.

He waited, saying nothing in the tense silence.

Then she sat up. "Robert, he didn't ask YOU, did he? He asked US."

Despite everything, Robert smiled to himself. It was all well and good being married to a smart woman, but sometimes it had its disadvantages.

He took her hands.

"Yes."

Oh, aren't I smart, Barbara thought. I figured it out. Unexpectedly, fear swept through her. Before the drug, before the "events", she had seldom been afraid. On her missions, careful planning raised the odds so there was little reason for fear. Well, maybe only a frisson of fear, which made for the exhilaration she felt when she had the target in her sights. But in the last few months she had learned what real fear was. She was afraid. She willed herself not to squeeze Robert's hands.

"He needs our help, doesn't he?" she said, making sure her voice was firm, while knowing that Robert saw through her.

"Yes, Control asked for our help."

She glared at him. "Robert, I didn't mean Control. If that man asked for a lifeline, I'd give him an anchor. I mean Mickey needs our help."

McCall had slipped. Barbara's hatred of Control was absolute.

"Yes, Mickey needs us."

"Where is he, Robert?"

"In Cyprus."

That's why Control wanted her. She had been station chief in Cyprus for two years.

It should be an easy call, she knew that. She would do anything to help Mickey. He was Robert's dearest friend, a true friend, unlike Control. They loved each other, although neither would admit it. She loved Mickey, too, because he loved Robert, and because, well, he was Mickey. She'd even been able to talk about…it…with him because he'd been through it too.

But, damn it, it wasn't easy, not anymore. Her stomach churned with the fear. What if one of the…"events"….hit her during the mission? How could they trust her? How could she trust herself?

McCall was looking at her closely, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. And of course he did know exactly what she was thinking, just as he knew exactly what she would say next.

"Where do we start?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 3**

In New York, Control had just gotten off the phone with the station chief in Nicosia. Murphy still hadn't heard from Kostmayer's team. They were supposed to have checked in at 10:00 PM, and there had been no message. It was, what, 6:00 AM by now in Europe and still no word, Control thought. Yes, Kostmayer could be a bit of a loose cannon sometimes, but he was absolutely reliable when it was important, and he knew it was vital that a team in the field check in at the appointed time. McCall had to get there soon, this Control was sure of.

Control looked at Williams' file. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Despite what he had told McCall, he had his doubts about Barbara's being part of the mission. Sure, she still had contacts on the island, but the real reason he had insisted was that he was almost certain McCall would not leave her alone, even for Kostmayer.

For most of the twenty-five years she'd worked for the Company, Williams had been one of their best agents. Hell, the East Germans never would have caught her in 1985 if the damned mole hadn't given her up, Control realized. Good thing the Stasi never knew what she was really doing during the time she worked in Leipzig. All they knew was that she was a go-between with the dissidents, funneling American money into the anti-communist cause. If the Stasi had known what else she was up to, they'd have shipped her off to the Soviets, and she'd never have gotten out alive. The Company managed to exchange her after a few months. That time in Bautzen had not been pleasant, but she'd survived and returned to complete her assignments with equal efficiency.

He had always had a good working relationship with Williams, but that changed when she found out what really happened in Afghanistan in 1989. She was just as efficient at hatred as she was at her work, and she developed into a real thorn in his side. Sometimes he wondered if she had him in her sights. Not an agreeable thought.

So, in 1991, he made her station chief in Cyprus. At the time, Cyprus was quiet and was considered a backwater by most ambitious operatives. Too much of a backwater, because it turned out that he never quite knew what she was up to. On the surface she was a good soldier, but he always suspected that she had her own agenda.

He looked at the file again. When was it? Where were his glasses? Right, three years ago. That's when she asked to be allowed to resign from the Company. He had authorized it on grounds that her back injury, the one from Afghanistan, made it impossible for her to do her work effectively. But that wasn't the reason. He just wanted her gone. Either she had to die or she had to go.

But she didn't really go. A few months after she resigned, her name started showing up in briefings on the Red Line. Did she get involved with them when she was in Cyprus? Did she join because of the cause, or was something else going on?

How ironic was it then that McCall, a man he called friend, had fallen in love with the woman who hated him with such cold passion. Control suppressed a wry smile. A little affair would have been fine. But Robert had married her. Married her, for God's sake. Objectively, Control knew that she was good for him, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Looking back at the file, he found Dr. Stephen's report. She and McCall should have known he'd get a copy sooner or later. Stephen was a Company shrink. Not that the doctor had given up the report willingly, but he was Control. The drug she had been given six months ago had left its mark on her, that much was clear.

Still, he was not sure everything was written in the report. Where Barbara Williams was concerned, he was never sure of anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 4**

McCall wondered how much time they had before the courier arrived, hoping that she could sleep a little longer.

"Control sent a courier with all the information he thinks we need," he told Barbara. It was not all the information, just what Control believed they needed. "She'll be here soon."

So, thought Barbara, Control had already sent the courier before he talked to Robert. Shit, the man had nerve. She laid her head back on the pillow, weary again now that her anger had waned. The fear was still coursing through her body, intensifying her weariness. She wanted to sleep, but there was no time.

"We'd better start getting ready. Do you think Control's arranged a flight for us? Have you ever met Murphy? He replaced me as station chief, so he's been there a while. Maybe he'll actually be useful, although I doubt it. Damn, I wish we could call him. Our hand guns are probably inadequate. We'll have to get more firepower from Murphy."

In spite of everything, McCall had to laugh, as he realized it was not likely that she was going to sleep any longer; she'd already gotten her teeth into this. Maybe it was a good thing, he hoped.

"Let's see, to address your points in order. One: I would assume that Control has set up some kind of transport. Otherwise we could get there too late. Two: no, I have not met Murphy, and yes, it is too bad we don't have a secure phone. Three: our hand guns are inadequate and, yes, Murphy can supply whatever else we need. OK?"

Barbara punched him in the arm.

"Yes, OK." She felt better, not only because she enjoyed it when Robert teased her, but because her mind was filling with planning a mission, pushing other thoughts away.

They got up and started dressing. While Robert was shaving, and she was showering, she mulled over what Mickey and his team might have been doing on Cyprus. She hadn't been keeping up on world news with her normal interest recently, but since it was Cyprus, it had to be something between the Turks and the Greeks. It was always something between the Turks and the Greeks. Hum, what was it, she wondered? What was it tickling the back of her mind? Just as she was washing out the conditioner, she got it. Stepping out of the shower, she turned excitedly to Robert.

"Robert, my dear, remember that Clinton's been talking about a deal to sell ATACMs to Turkey? That must have royally pissed off the Greeks. Those missiles have the right range to reach the Greek side of Cyprus. If you were the Greek Cypriots, what would you do?"

Robert stopped shaving, considered for a second, and answered: "Ah, well, Cold War or no Cold War, if I wanted to get back at the US, I'd pay a call on my good friends in Moscow. Yes, indeed, I'd probably try to get my own missiles from the Russians."

"Like you have any friends in Moscow, Robert. But, yes, that's what I think, too. That must be what Mickey has gotten himself involved in."

She took a step closer and said, "You know, when I was in Cyprus, there was many a time when I wanted to shake the Turks and the Greeks and tell them to GET OVER IT. Totally inappropriate of me, but there you are."

She was standing wet and naked in front of him, talking international politics, and he had some totally inappropriate thoughts of his own. She noticed, and with a laugh grabbed a towel. Ah, well, such is life, McCall sighed. Now wasn't the time. But her laugh gave him almost as much pleasure.

The doorbell rang. The courier had arrived.

While Barbara finished dressing, McCall opened the door to Ginger Brach, who helped him with his cases in New York now and again. There had been some bad blood between Ginger and Mickey in the past, but he thought they had patched up their differences. Did Ginger know what was in her pouch?

"Ginger, good to see you. Come in."

"Hi, Robert. Good to see you again, too, even though I didn't expect it to be in Italy." Driving up the hill to the villa, she had thought that it wouldn't be bad to retire here. Not bad at all. Not likely, either. Glancing around, she saw that the villa was just as beautiful inside as out.

Now wasn't the time for a tour, though. She handed McCall the pouch. He didn't look at it.

"Thank you, Ginger. Come in, come in. Barbara's making coffee, if you'd like a cup."

"Sure. Thanks."

Ginger followed McCall into the kitchen, where Barbara was standing with wet hair pouring coffee. Did her hand shake as she was pouring, Ginger thought? She hadn't seen Barbara for a while, not since the incident, and she was surprised how she looked. Different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but somehow different. Ginger wondered if Barbara knew what younger female operatives thought of her. It sounded corny, but for Ginger, Barbara was her role model, her hero even. She didn't want her to be different.

"Ginger, hi. You're looking good. Here's coffee. Cream, sugar?" Smiling, Barbara gave Ginger a hug. She had always liked Ginger, especially since she had stood up to Mickey about that trouble they had. Strong young woman, Ginger. Good at what she did.

As he took a cup from Barbara, McCall asked Ginger: "What are your instructions?"

"To drive you to the airfield. The jet will be ready to go at 8:00. That gives us about an hour. The drive to the airport takes thirty minutes."

"Good. Now, Ginger, would you please excuse us? If you're hungry, take whatever you like. There's a wonderful view of the valley from the living room, through there."

Barbara added: "And the bathroom is down the hall to your right."

While Ginger headed for the bathroom, she and McCall went into the office and shut the door. Putting on his glasses, McCall scanned the files in the pouch. Barbara sat down, rested her head on the back of the chair, and closed her eyes. For once, he didn't notice.

Still looking at the files he said: "You were right, Barbara. It's about the Cypriot National Guard negotiating with the Russians for an anti-missile system. Seems Washington is not pleased." Taking off his glasses, he looked at her and said: "You have to wonder sometimes about those people inside the Beltway. It was the most obvious thing in the world. We sell missiles to the Turks. Were the Greeks going to be happy about that? Idiots."

Barbara nodded in agreement. "Then they send people like Mickey and his team out for damage control."

Replacing his glasses, McCall read: "It says here that Mickey missed his 10:00 check in last night. At 11:00 Murphy contacted Control."

Mickey would not miss his scheduled report unless something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong, no reason to discuss it, they both thought. McCall continued reading.

"Oh, now this is interesting." He held up a picture of a man she didn't recognize.

"Who is it?"

"Remember when you said I didn't have any friends in Moscow? Well, there you were wrong, my dear. This is my old friend Radek. Was high up in the KGB. Although I would have thought he'd be in Siberia, not Moscow, if he was alive at all. He's going by the name of Melnikov. The head of the Russian delegation. The Cypriots better have a good negotiator on their side, or Mr. Radek will make them pay through the nose."

"I recognize the name. Never had the pleasure, though. How did you get to be…friends?"

"We had many a run in over the years. The last time I saw him was in New York, in, what, '88, after I'd resigned. Felix, one of my old network of operatives, found out that Radek had a sweet little operation siphoning off Soviet funds into his own Swiss bank account. Felix came to me with the information." McCall paused, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead. It was a painful memory.

"Radek had him killed before I could bring him in." Another pause.

His voice taking on the menacing tone Barbara knew well, he continued: "For, let's say, payback, I arranged for Radek's superiors to find out about the account. Evidently, Mr. Radek managed to slip out of my noose. Damn."

Barbara said: "Well, maybe if he managed to keep the bank account quiet before, we can use it against him now. But I don't know. With the new times in Russia, they might not care anymore. It seems that everyone is sending money to their own Swiss bank account."

There was a quiet knock at the door. Ginger was letting them know that it was time to go.

"Robert, we can read the rest of the file in the plane. We'll have three or four hours. You go on. I've got a few more things to do before we leave."

Ginger was standing outside the door. McCall motioned her down the hallway, while keeping his eyes on Barbara walking back to the bedroom.

"Barbara will be here in a minute. Let's get our things in the car."

Once in the bedroom, Barbara leaned against the closed door, breathing deeply and trying to slow her racing heart. It sometimes happened. The doctors had told her if people died after getting the drug, they died a heart attack or a stroke, not from the drug itself. All the drug did was play with your mind; then your mind took care of the rest. But the truth was that the doctors knew next to nothing about it. It wasn't exactly FDA tested. Ah, Barbara thought bitterly, but they had HER now, didn't they? She was their damned guinea pig. She should have been taking notes for the last six months.

She felt the door opening and moved away. Robert looked at her.

"Are you alright?"

"Sure, fine. Ah, there are my glasses. Let's go."

The drive to the airstrip was uneventful. When they got there the small jet was waiting. It was 8:00. Kostmayer had been missing for ten hours.


	5. Chapter 5

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 5**

In their room in Paphos, Farhad and the two other members of his team were going over what had happened yesterday. Their operation had been going well until Farhad spotted Mickey Kostmayer with another man and a woman. Almost nobody in the world knew what Ahmad Farhad looked like, but Kostmayer was one of them. Kostmayer had almost killed the Kurd in the nightclub in Berlin two years ago. If he saw Farhad, the American agent would know that the PKK had set its sights on the meeting. And Kostmayer knew that when the PKK showed up, chaos and death would follow.

The PKK team leader could only speculate why Kostmayer and his team were in Cyprus. After all, the US had presented the PKK with this opportunity when they announced they were selling missiles to Turkey. Probably Kostmayer's bosses wanted to keep informed on the talks between the Russians and the Greek Cypriots; maybe the Americans had their own plans to disrupt the talks. It didn't matter. The CIA operatives were a threat to the PKK operation. Farhad and his men had to eliminate them.

It had not been hard, at least with the other man and the woman. Thinking that they were the hunters, not the hunted, the Americans had not been as cautious as they should have been. Who was training these new CIA people, Farhad asked himself? Were the Americans getting soft because the KGB was history? Zealots were almost always more dangerous than professional agents. Didn't they realize that? Well, they'd have to learn, of that he was sure.

Farhad and his team had set a trap. They watched until Kostmayer separated from the other two, then Zebari approached the man and the woman. Farhad didn't know their names. They were of no consequence.

He was from a Greek Cypriot organization that opposed the purchase of the missiles from the Russians, Zebari had told them. They wanted peace with the Turks, not more violence. He had important intelligence about the head of the Russian negotiating team, Melnikov, and he wanted them to use it.

The American had feigned surprise. "Why are you coming to us? We have nothing to do with missiles!"

"Get off it," Zebari answered, using the American slang he had learned at Oregon State University, "we know you're CIA. We've been watching you since you stepped on the island. You want to stop the missile sale. Why else would you be here? Our information will give you the leverage you need. Come on, let's go."

The two Americans went off and discussed it. Knowing they probably wanted to delay until Kostmayer returned, Zebari upped the pressure.

"Hey, I only have the file for a couple of hours. The National Guardsmen will miss it if I don't return it soon."

"The National Guardsmen? How did they get it?"

"You don't think the Cypriot National Guard would go into these negotiations without some ammunition, do you? I've been undercover with them for the last three months, waiting to find out what they had. If you don't want it, then I'll have to find someone else. Maybe the British?" Most of Zebari's story was true, except which side he was on. Zebari's mother had been a Greek Cypriot, but his father was a Kurd.

The two Americans had exchanged glances and decided. They would come. Too bad for them, but good for us, Farhad thought.

Once they were in the room, Zebari, Awramani, and Farhad had disarmed the two, admittedly after a small altercation, but nothing difficult. While Awramani bound the man to a chair, Zebari gagged the woman, and held her still. These two would bring him Kostmayer.

Farhad knew that the Americans used women more and more in their missions these days. Folly, he thought. Not that they were weak, and sometimes they could be of real value. However, when men and women worked together, it wasn't worth it, in his opinion. Men could usually stand a certain amount of pain. He also knew women who could stand a lot of pain. But he was convinced that most men could not watch women suffer. Ah, well, he was glad there was a woman this time. She would prove his theory.

He had nodded to Zebari, who threw her down on the floor, mounted her, and tied her arms above her head. Next, Farhad described in intimate detail how his colleague would use his knife on her if the man did not call Kostmayer. As it was always best to give a demonstration, Zebari opened her blouse and cut a slit down her breast. You had to give it to her, she had showed the pain only in her eyes. He almost wanted to kill her right there, to make it easy on her. But he couldn't.

The man had held out, so there was more theater. Farhad rather enjoyed theater himself, but the Americans were less entertained. As Zebari put the knife to the woman once again, the man made the call, never taking his eyes off her.

"Mickey, it's Martin."

"Marty, what the hell, man? Where've you been? Is Clare with you? You know you're never supposed to go off alone like that without checking with the team leader!"

"So I'm calling now. You've got to get over here. We've found some great intell on Melnikov."

"On Melnikov? What kind of intell? Where are you?"

Martin described the route to the room.

"This better be good, Marty. I'll be there soon."

After Martin hung up, they quickly killed both Americans.

Kostmayer was on his way. Still, Farhad would be uneasy until Kostmayer was in their hands. Had something in Martin's voice perhaps warned Kostmayer? Subtle clues kept good agents alive, and Kostmayer was a good agent, in a different league from the other two. He had been trained by the best, and he had been tested in action all over the world. We'll see. We'll see, he had told himself.

He had sent Awramani up to the roof to keep watch. They waited. He should be here by now. Suddenly, a cat screeched at the side of the house, Arwamani fired, and bullets tore through the window. They hit the floor. Jumping up a second later, Farhad and Zebari ripped open the door just in time to glimpse Kostmayer running down the street toward the ocean cliffs at the edge of town.

So, he HAD suspected something. But still, this can be salvaged, Farhad had told himself. There's nothing out there but the cliffs and the water below.

In truth, it wasn't as easy as he had hoped. Yes, they had been able to follow him. Farhad thought Awramani had wounded him, how badly he didn't know. But what had apparently put Kostmayer at a disadvantage had actually given him an advantage, for he did not run directly to the cliffs. Instead he used the rough terrain to double back and forth, eluding them again and again, firing as he ran. It wasn't clear who was cat and who was mouse in this game of chase. When the sun began to set, it had looked like he had an even greater chance of getting away.

Then Kostmayer had seemed to make a tactical error. Maybe he couldn't go any farther because of his wound. For whatever reason he ended up on the edge of the cliff. There was no escape except down. He had jumped. Straight out into the pitch black night. When they had gotten to the edge, they could see nothing. They could only hear the surf crashing below.

"Nobody could survive that," Zebari had said. "Not even Mickey Kostmayer."

Now, the next morning, Farhad told himself the same thing. With the Americans out of the way, it was time to get back to their mission. In the back of his mind, though, he wished that they had Kostmayer's body.


	6. Chapter 6

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 6**

Man, Kostmayer thought, it's damned cold. He started to reach for the blankets when he felt a stab of pain. As he was trying to figure out what that was about, water washed over his face. Sputtering, he sat up… and bashed his head on the top of the cave. Oh, yeah, the cave. He must have been unconscious for a while.

Now the world around him had Kostmayer's full attention, and this world was low, small, and wet. His head hurt, and the rest of him felt like he'd been run over by a Mack truck. His shoulder had produced the sharp pain. Blood was oozing from the wound. From what he could tell, it wasn't the worst he'd had, but it still could be dangerous. Probably had a concussion, too, he told himself.

As his mind cleared, he remembered jumping off the cliff into the blackness, hoping, well, praying that the water was deep enough. Hell, praying that there WAS water down there, he thought. To tell the truth, it was kind of a rush. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid came to mind.

He checked out his surroundings. Paphos was on the west side of the island. That meant that this sea cave must face west, and Kostmayer could tell from the filtered light coming through its mouth that it was morning. Hard to tell exactly how long he had been here, though. He remembered jumping, alright, but he wasn't clear on how he had gotten into the cave. Waste of energy to think about it. Focus on now, he commanded himself.

Another wave washed over him. Turning away from the cave's opening, he looked to see how much space there was behind him. Yes, there was some, probably enough. He could see light at the back of the cave. Good, there was an opening to the cliff above, but it was a hell of a long way up. File that away, focus on now, he commanded himself again.

He went over his options, thinking: I've got to choose: get out of the cave or move farther back. Anyone searching outside would spot me right away in the sunlight. But the shoulder is still bleeding, and I'm cold. How long before I'm too cold and too weak to get out? How well can I swim? How well can I climb?

The next wave forced him to choose. Awkwardly Kostmayer pushed and crawled his way into the interior of cave, which stretched farther back than he had expected. It was low, but it didn't taper down too much. Maybe, back there, he could get dry and warmer, he wondered. He found what looked like a good place to stop. Eventually he would plan his exit. But first, he would figure out why the PKK was in Cyprus.


	7. Chapter 7

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 7**

Once they were in the air, McCall retrieved the pouch and started to open a file when he glanced over at Barbara, thinking she might want to read it herself. She was staring out the window, her gaze fixed, vacant. No, McCall thought. That look, he'd seen it too often recently. This time, though, she felt his eyes and turned back.

"What?"

Relieved, he said: "Do you want to read the file?"

"Ah, no…, no. Tell me if you find anything that we should discuss." Truth was, her heart was still racing, and she needed to be quiet, to control it. She had to use every minute left to center herself. There wouldn't be any time after they landed, that was clear to her.

Irrationally, McCall felt she was shutting him out. For a short time they had been connected the way they used to be, but now she was retreating into herself again. Don't be stupid, McCall, you know she's not shutting you out on purpose. And whose fault is it anyway? You can't blame HER, he told himself bitterly.

Now he was the one staring out the window, trying to push away the memories of that night. Counterproductive. Focus on the mission. Thinking about it wouldn't help Barbara, and it wouldn't help Mickey, he insisted to himself.

But the same questions always slithered their way around the walls he set up to contain the memories. How could he have so grossly underestimated the hatred that twisted Michael's soul? Why had her left her alone that night six months ago, leaving her vulnerable to Michael's attack, he asked himself once more?

The files slid off his lap in a heap, breaking through his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. Focus, McCall, he instructed himself.

Mickey Kostmayer, Martin Cilic, and Clare O'Connor had been sent to Cyprus to find out all they could about the negotiations. They also had been ordered to take any opportunity that presented itself to sabotage the talks. They had arrived in Nicosia two days ago, on Friday morning. Kostmayer had checked in Friday night, telling Murphy that they hadn't found out anything of value yet. That was the last Murphy had heard from them. The talks were scheduled to begin on Monday.

McCall didn't give a damn about the talks. The Turks and the Greeks were going to be at each other's throats no matter what the Americans and the Russians did. The Americans and the Russians would continue to joust for position in the world, even if the Russians had apparently lost power in the last few years. To McCall, whose life had been controlled by international power struggles for thirty years, it had become very petty and very boring. Even with the end of the so-called Cold War, nothing ever changed.

All he was interested in was finding Kostmayer. Still….after they found Kostmayer, he might consider finally avenging Felix' death. For although he had left the agency, he had not forgotten his enemies. Nor had he forgiven them. He did not forgive.

The rest of the files told him the names of the Cypriot National Guard leaders involved in the negotiations, the names of the other members of the Russian negotiating team, where the meetings were being held – in a resort hotel in Paphos. McCall filed the names and places away in his mind, in case they would help finding Kostmayer.

McCall looked at his watch. still had another hour, but it was time to talk. He wished Barbara could rest a little more but it wasn't possible.

"Barbara," he said quietly.

She opened her eyes, clearly unsure where she was, but reassured when she saw McCall. After he summarized the information in the files for her, she asked: "Robert, did you promise anything to Control about the talks?"

"No, nothing."

"So we'll forget the Greeks and the Turks, AND the Americans and the Russians. It's not our fight anymore. Let's find Mickey and get out."

"Fine with me. Except for one thing: I want to take Radek down," McCall said.

Barbara hesitated, as the fear rose in her again. She wanted, no, she needed this mission to be as short as possible. But Felix had been one of McCall's operatives. It was his responsibility to take care of his operatives, and he had failed. Felix had died. That must have been eating at him all these years. She wanted it for him. But she couldn't do it.

Getting up, she walked over and took the seat next to him. Looking him directly in the face, Barbara tried to express what she was feeling: "Robert, I know this is important for you." She looked down, stumbling over her words, embarrassed that she had to admit weakness, "But I'm…I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything. Please, let's just think about getting Mickey out."

McCall had to look away, furious with himself for putting her in this position. For too long it had all been about him. When he had been married to Kay, and Scott was a boy, he had only thought about himself. Over and over, he had left them for the job, for his bloody career. And he had left Barbara that night because of his job. My God, I'm doing it again, he accused himself.

There was a whine as the jet's landing gear opened.

Putting his arms around her, he whispered: "I'm sorry. I am so very sorry." She knew he wasn't just talking about today.

Over and over she had told him that he alone was not to blame. After all, she insisted, she had foolishly opened the door to her kidnapper. But he could never accept it. So all she said was: "Robert, I love you. We'll make it through."

The seatbelt light came on. They began their descent into Cyprus.


	8. Chapter 8

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 8**

Station chief Sean Murphy was waiting for them. He knew Barbara, of course, but he had never met McCall. When Control had told him that the two were coming, it set him wondering what the famous, or infamous, Robert McCall would be like.

As Murphy watched Barbara and McCall exit the jet and walk across the tarmac, he was surprised at what he saw: An older gentleman dressed casually in slacks and a sports jacket, finely tailored and perfectly fitted; Barbara playing the role of the gentleman's wife, in stylish jeans, blouse, and blazer. Anyone could have mistaken them for a well-to-do couple on holiday arriving in their private jet. Unless they could pick out the guns each was carrying under their jackets.

"Hello, McCall. Sean Murphy. Hello, Barbara. Glad you could get here so quickly."

"Murphy." McCall shook his hand.

"Hi Sean. What's the latest?" Barbara asked as she shook his hand. She had worked with Murphy for a few weeks during their transition, and she didn't expect a lot from him. Not that he would be a liability; he just wouldn't help much. She thought of agency employees like Murphy as place holders. All they had to do was be there. If anything important happened, someone more qualified came in to do the job. Like now.

"Still haven't heard from Kostmayer." They hadn't expected he would.

There were two cars parked at the edge of the tarmac, one Murphy's, one for Barbara and McCall. The pilot brought their small bags to the blue Mercedes, and Murphy opened the trunk. Under a false floor was an assortment of weapons.

"I wasn't sure what you might be needing."

After looking them over, McCall said: "This will be adequate. Thank you."

The phone in Murphy's car buzzed, and he reached in to pick it up.

"Murphy." He listened.

"Do we know who they are? Damn. Keep me informed."

Turning to Barbara and McCall, he explained: "My office just heard that the Paphos police have found the bodies of two Americans in a house at the edge of town. No ID yet."

McCall glanced at Barbara, assuming she had the same idea. No ID meant that Mickey could still be alive. That is what they would believe until they saw a body.

"Do you have contacts in the Paphos police?" McCall asked.

"The Greeks on the island are not exactly pleased about what we're doing right now, with the missiles, I mean. Sources are drying up. Hell, they'll barely answer the phone anymore."

McCall looked at him like he was a bug. Murphy knew he had not tried that hard to keep up his contacts, and he felt as if McCall knew that, too.

"No matter, we'll figure something out. Is there a phone in our car, too?" When Murphy nodded, McCall continued: "Good, is it secure?"

"Yes. When will you check in?"

"If we have something to tell you," McCall answered.

Murphy hesitated. This was not standard operating procedure.

"But…"

"If we have something to tell you," McCall repeated slowly, emphasizing every word, glaring at Murphy with hard, cold eyes. They're two of a kind, Murphy thought. She had always spooked him when they worked together, and McCall, well, this was beyond spooky. He averted his eyes and said nothing.

Barbara watched Murphy's capitulation with amusement, knowing the effect her husband could have when he chose to. Murphy was worse than she thought. You should always have contacts; you just had to know how to manage them, she knew.

"Alright then, let's get going," she said, breaking the tension.

In the car, Barbara picked up the phone and dialed. McCall had expected no less. You should always have contacts, he knew.

"Hello, Stavros, this is Barbara."

Stavros Pavlou had been Barbara's main contact in the Cypriot police. Nothing had changed. He still needed money, and she still had it. There had been plenty of money in the pouch. They agreed to meet in a café in town. She would bring the money, and he would bring the information they needed. There was some risk in their meeting, but time made it necessary to take risks.

McCall parked the Mercedes at a distance from the café, but close enough to keep an eye on Barbara and Pavlou. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight if he could help it. She arrived first, opened a newspaper and began to read. Soon Pavlou took a seat at her table, greeting her like an old friend. They ordered coffee and seemed to be having a normal, friendly conversation. Meanwhile, McCall wasn't only keeping an eye on Barbara, he was also observing everything on the street. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Eventually Barbara got up and left. Pavlou paid the bill, and left with the newspaper. The transaction was complete.

Getting in the car, Barbara turned to McCall: "It wasn't Mickey."

As Barbara had walked back to the car, McCall didn't realize that he was holding his breath, but when he heard the news he exhaled. Still, all they knew for certain was that Mickey's body had not been found. Yet.

"About 10:00 this morning, the police were called to a section of Paphos close to the water," Barbara reported, looking into the distance. "A family came home after vacation to find their house open. There were two bodies on the floor, a man's and a woman's. Both had their throats slit." Her voice faltered. "The woman had been tortured."

McCall pretended he had not heard the catch in her voice. He asked: "How do we know the man wasn't Mickey?"

She looked at him: "Too big. The man was over six feet and heavy set." Kostmayer was about 5'10".

"The police believe they had been dead for about ten hours, give or take. That would put the time of death between 8:00 and 10:00 last night. Nobody in the neighborhood saw or heard anything. Seems it's a pretty rough area, and the police are not beloved by the populace."

Turning back to look out the window, she paused, then asked: "I didn't know either of them, Cilic or O'Connor. Did you?"

"No. What a waste, what a bloody waste."

"I hope they clean her up well before her family sees her," Barbara said softly, still not looking his direction. "They shouldn't have to see that. The bastards." He put his hand on her leg, but said nothing.

"They must have walked into a trap," McCall speculated. "But who set them up? There was nothing in the files about other operatives on the island. We could talk to Murphy, but I don't think that dolt knows anything. The Russians and the Greek Cypriots must have assets on the ground, and maybe the Turks are working it themselves. But I can't imagine any of them doing this, can you?"

"No. They'd be taking too big a risk, killing two of ours like that. Could spark an international incident." Keeping her eyes forward, she asked: "You do know what happened, don't you?"

"Probably. Cilic and O'Connor were lured to the house. O'Connor was tortured to force Cilic to get in touch with Mickey. They wanted Mickey." He was looking at her, but she was still staring ahead.

"Yes." She felt the fear rising again, like bile in her throat. She'd spent twenty-five years knowing about this side of the job, but she'd never been afraid like she was now. Get back to the mission, she told herself. But at the same time, she decided if she found the men who had done this, she would kill them.

"I'd like to take a look at the house and the street where it happened," Barbara went on, in control of her voice now. "I think Mickey did come to the house yesterday, but he realized it was a trap and took off."

Knowing Kostmayer as he did, McCall agreed with her assessment. "They could still be watching. But yes, we have to check out the street. It's the only lead we have."

"We do have one advantage. They don't know who we are," he added in that icily determined tone his enemies feared.

No, indeed, they didn't know. Too bad for them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 9**

Murphy had forgotten to put a map in the car, so it took longer than they wanted to find the street, but finally, they were standing in front of the house. It was an ordinary house on an ordinary street. The owners were home, so there was no chance they could look inside. They concentrated on the street instead. Asphalt ran for about five hundred meters, to be replaced by gravel where the street curved sharply left and down. The sound of the ocean was loud in the distance.

McCall took one side of the street, Barbara took the other, and they looked for anything unusual. The people out on the street stared at them. Curtains moved. People were curious, but nobody did or said anything. They just watched. The Americans knew they were being watched, but it couldn't be helped. They assumed, hoped, that nobody in this neighborhood would be interested in having the police back.

About half way down the asphalt portion of the roadway, Barbara waved for McCall to join her.

"Look," she said, pointing down. "Could be blood."

He looked carefully at the spot.

"Yes," he said, frowning. "Let's find out if there's more."

They continued, eyes on the ground.

"Here." McCall found another dark spot. "They're pretty far apart. Either there wasn't much blood, or he was running."

They followed the spots onto the gravel, down the hill, and then lost them in the rocks and underbrush where the street ended, and the fields leading to the cliffs began.

"Blast. Where would he have gone from here?" McCall stopped to look around.

Coming up beside him, Barbara asked: "Robert, it was Mickey, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I think so. I hope so. Not that he's wounded, I mean…."

"I know what you mean. Let's keep looking. Maybe we can pick up another trail."

They crisscrossed the field. The underbrush was beaten down in some places, and they found a few shell casings. Mickey had been running for his life, chased by the ones who had killed Cilic and O'Connor. Eventually they reached the cliffs – or actually, Barbara reached the cliffs. McCall hung back, for he had what he considered a ludicrous fear of heights. Ludicrous, but there it was. Barbara went to the edge and looked down to the churning water below. Turning to describe what she had seen, she noticed a boy of about ten lurking behind McCall. Strolling back to her husband, she indicated with a barely perceptible nod that he should turn around slowly.

When the boy realized they were looking at them, he retreated a few steps, then stuck his chin out and said: "He jump."

Barbara and McCall looked at each other in dismay. He jumped? She walked casually over to the boy, not wanting to scare him off.

"Hi! My name's Barbara. What's yours?"

"Scooter, my name is Scooter."

"That doesn't sound Greek to me."

"Not Greek, American. I have a scooter and the American tourists, they watch me on the scooter, they call me Scooter," he said proudly.

"Oh, I see. You speak very good English." She was trying to be patient.

He shrugged: "Everyone here, we all talk English. We work for tourists."

"Of course. So, you said he jumped. Who jumped?" she asked with her heart in her throat.

"The man last night. The one the others chase."

"You saw them?"

"Oh, yes, I follow them from Nicolaides house. They run and shoot, like in TV."

"What did the others do when he jumped?"

"They look down. Then they go away."

"Did you see where the man jumped? Can you show me?"

The boy gestured with his hand that they should follow him. He went to a spot a few yards from where Barbara had been standing and pointed. "Here." Barbara looked down. How could someone jump here? Oh my God, if Mickey jumped from here, he must be…. No, she wouldn't allow that thought.

"You're sure it was here?"

"Yes, here. He jump here." He laughed. "It was very good. Off the cliff right out into the black. I think he shout something but I not sure."

"Would you please wait here, Scooter?"

He nodded.

Barbara went back to where McCall was still standing back from the edge.

"You heard?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. With a tight little smile he added: "At least we know for sure it was Mickey. Who else would be crazy enough take a running leap off a cliff in the pitch darkness? What do you think he was shouting?"

"We'll have to ask him when we find him, won't we?" She returned his smile, resting her hand gently on his arm. "We'll just have to ask him."


	10. Chapter 10

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 10**

In Kostmayer's dream, someone was chasing him, who, he didn't know. He couldn't understand what they were yelling. What language was it in? Was it a man? A woman? He couldn't tell; he just knew he had to get away. He ran and ran and ran, but he never got any farther away. Now he could hear, it was a woman, and she was calling his name. Kostmayer, Kostmayer…. It was getting louder. She was shaking him, and it hurt his shoulder.

Shouting, "Hey, cut it out!" He opened his eyes.

"Mickey, for God's sake, would you wake up? Oh, sorry I hurt you. But we've got to get out of this cave. You know how I hate caves. I can't drag you out by myself so you have to help."

It sounded like Barbara, and it even looked like Barbara, but what the hell was Barbara doing here, Kostmayer asked himself? She hates caves. Maybe he wasn't awake after all, he thought.

"Mickey Kostmayer, if you don't start moving right now I'm going to leave you here. I cannot stand to be in this cave for one more minute."

Then Kostmayer was sure it was Barbara. She was always giving him orders. Without saying a word, he roused himself and started crawling.

"Mickey, not that way. THIS way."

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he mumbled. The opening was over there. Now he remembered. The cave. Jumping. Damn, his shoulder. Don't use that arm, you dope, he told himself.

Now she was half way out of the cave, not waiting for him. Better get going, Kostmayer thought. Like before, he pushed himself awkwardly forward. Every part of his body ached. Barbara stopped and looked back.

"OK, OK, wait, I'll help you." She edged her way back toward him and took him around the waist. With her pulling and him pushing, they finally struggled out through the cave opening. Lying exhausted on the sand, Kostmayer looked up to see McCall. Stumbling as he tried to stand, McCall caught him, putting his arm around his good shoulder.

"Hello, Mickey."

"Hey, McCall. What took you so long?" Kostmayer answered with a crooked smile.

"I'll do better next time."

"Yeah, well, I hope so."

Barbara was standing with her back against the cliff wall. Scooter had showed them the path down the cliff. She thought, gracious, Robert had hated that climb, but he'd eventually gotten down. At the bottom they'd recognized that only two things could have happened to Mickey: Either he was dead, or he was in a cave.

There were a lot of caves, some larger, some smaller. One by one they had searched them. Peering into the mouth of this cavern, she had spotted Mickey at the far end. She could hardly believe he was actually there. Shouting to McCall that she had found him, Barbara had taken a deep breath and gone in after him.

Now, watching Mickey and Robert reconnect, Barbara said: "Well, next time YOU can go in and get him, Robert McCall. I am never going into another cave as long as I live." She was matching their bantering tone, but in the cave, it had been horrific. Another wave of fear had washed over her, and she had felt that she might be drowning in it, that this could be the beginning of one of the "events". Somehow she had escaped this time. Leaning on the wall, pale and sweating despite her soaked clothes, she was fighting again to control her racing heart.

Supporting Mickey, Robert could see Barbara's distress. He understood, but right now there was nothing he could do to help her. She had to go on. She knew that as well as he did. Mickey was hurt. After getting him up the cliff, they had to assess his injuries and decide whether he needed a doctor right now, or if they could wait until they flew back to Florence.

"Mickey, other than the shoulder, where are you hurt?" McCall asked.

"Maybe a concussion. Bruises. Not too bad."

Not too bad for Kostmayer was pretty damned bad for most people.

"We've got to get up to the cliff top," McCall pointed up. Kostmayer looked up.

"Man, McCall, how did you get down here?" He knew McCall had this weird fear of heights.

"We will not go into that now, Mickey."

"Oh, that bad?"

McCall gave Kostmayer one of those looks.

"Right." Mickey smiled again.

"Barbara, Barbara," said Scooter. Barbara had forgotten about Scooter.

"Yes?"

"I know a different way up. Longer, but flatter."

"Hey, that's fantastic, Scooter. Can you show us?"

"Yes, I show you."

It did take longer, but it wasn't nearly as difficult, and took them away from the sheer cliff face. With a little help, Kostmayer made it, and McCall did too, happy that he didn't have to walk along the edge. Barbara forced herself to think about the climb, to think about what might have happened to Mickey, to think of anything but her fear. By the time they got to the top, Barbara was calmer.

Barbara took the boy aside: "Scooter, you have helped us so much. Efharistó." Reaching in her pocket, she took out 25 Cypriot pounds. His eyes widened. Surely he had never seen that much money in his life.

Scooter stared at the bills in his hand. She was right, he had never seen that much money. His mother was going to be so happy. Waving goodbye, he started to run. He couldn't wait to get home and show his mother the money he had made.


	11. Chapter 11

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 11**

They didn't want Mickey to have to walk back to the car after the climb, so Barbara left to bring the Mercedes as close to the field as possible. While they waited, Kostmayer rested on a rock and McCall did a preliminary examination of his shoulder.

"I think it's a through and through," Kostmayer said.

"Yes, you're right. Not too bad. Looks like it's stopped bleeding. That's good. How about your head. A concussion, you think?"

"Yeah. When I jumped I hit my head pretty hard on something."

A skeptical look on his face, McCall opined: "That something was perhaps a rock, don't you think?"

"Ah, yeah."

"Well, when we get back to Florence, we'll get everything taken care of."

"Not going, not yet," said Mickey, stonily. "I've got some unfinished business right here."

McCall had hoped that Kostmayer would not say that, but in truth, he hadn't expected anything else. The others had killed his team. Mickey was not the kind of agent, not the kind of man to walk away.

"Mickey, we came here to get you out. We won't leave without you."

"McCall, I didn't ask you to come. Go. I can take care of this myself."

"Hmmm, yes, with a hole in your shoulder and a blurry head, you expect to take care of it."

"Not your business how I take care of it. If you want to go, go."

At that point Barbara returned on foot, having parked the car as close as possible to where they stood. She could feel the tension between the two friends, and she had a pretty good idea of its origin. If their places had been reversed, McCall wouldn't agree to leave either, not before the attackers had been dealt with. However, she had hoped that they would work it out before she got back.

In this case, though, she knew there was a wild card: Barbara herself. She had told McCall that she wanted to find Mickey and get out. As much as he wanted to stay and work with Mickey, he would be worried about her. She always seemed to be making Robert choose between her and his life, his job, his friends, she thought. Damn, she hated that.

OK, she decided, I'm going to solve this.

"So, what's next? The car's parked right over that hill," she said.

Neither man said a word.

"Let me guess. Robert, you've been trying to get Mickey to go, and Mickey, you've been telling Robert that you're going to stay. Am I right?"

From the looks on their faces she could tell she was right.

"Well, I suggest that before we decide, you tell us everything that happened yesterday, Mickey," she said, looking at McCall to signal him that she might be open to staying.

"Right. Yesterday afternoon, we split up. I sent Marty and Clare to check the layout of the hotel. We knew the Russian delegation was arriving at 4:00, and I wanted to take a look at them. After I finished, I went back to the hotel room to meet up as arranged, but they weren't there. Then I got a phone call from Marty. He said he had found some important intell on the head of the Russian delegation, Melnikov."

McCall glanced at Barbara, but said nothing.

"He wanted me to come to a house, the house over there." He pointed up toward the road.

McCall nodded: "Yes, we've been there."

Looking at McCall, he asked: "Marty and Clare?"

"Dead."

"Shit." Even though he had been almost certain that they were dead, it was still hard to hear.

"Did you suspect anything, when Marty called I mean?" This was Barbara's question.

"You know how it is, when you just don't feel right about something. Maybe it was Marty's voice. He didn't actually say anything, but…."

The other two nodded. They understood.

"I went to the house, but instead of going to the front, I went around the side. Just as I was looking in the window, this fucking cat decided to screech. The guy on the roof made me and started shooting. I returned fire, sprayed the house, and took off. The came after me and, well, you probably know the rest. Except that I recognized one of them."

He looked grimly at McCall and Barbara.

"It was Abdul Farhad."

"Good God," McCall said, while Barbara inhaled sharply. "What the hell are the PKK doing here?"

"Now you know why I'm going to stay?"

It's time, Barbara thought. "Mickey, I need to talk to Robert for a minute. Would you excuse us?"

She and Robert walked.

"Robert, I know I told you that I wanted to find Mickey and get out. I've changed my mind. This isn't about some absurd talks between the Greeks and the Russians. The PKK is totally different. If we don't neutralize them, a lot of people could die."

Putting his hands on her shoulders and looking her directly, he asked: "Are you sure?"

Her voice wavered as she answered: "No, I'm not sure. I'm still not sure of anything. I'm afraid I'll put you or Mickey in danger." Taking a deep breath, she continued, "We'll just have to deal with it. There's no other choice."

"No, there is no other choice." Reaching up and stroking her cheek he said: "We'll get through it."

After a moment, McCall returned to business. "Alright. The first thing we've got to do is find a doctor for Mickey. Any ideas?"

Trying to focus on the mission, she replied: "Yes, in fact I do have an idea. I'll call him when we get back to the car."

Returning to where Kostmayer was sitting, McCall said: "Ok, we're staying. Under one condition."

"What's that?"

"We're taking you to a doctor first. Then we'll make our plan."

"It's a deal."


	12. Chapter 12

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 12**

Despite his lingering doubts about Kostmayer, Farhad knew they had to move forward with their plans, so he decided it was time to contact Melnikov at the Paphos Resort. The Russian was staying in the most expensive suite; only the best for Mr. Melnikov, thought Farhad. During 20 years in the KGB, he had always found ways to get the best, the best suits, the best wine, the best women. Where he got his money, Farhad didn't know, and how the KGB had never caught him with his hand in the till, he didn't know either. To Farhad, it didn't matter. His indulgences made him vulnerable, and they could exploit that vulnerability.

He dialed.

"Melnikov."

"Hello, Mr. Melnikov. I would like to talk to you about a mutual friend, Elena Sergeevna."

Immediately the Russian was on his guard. Elena Sergeevna was his superior in the Russian Intelligence Service.

"Who are you?"

"It's not important who I am. What is important is that I have some pictures that I am sure will interest you."

"Pictures? Pictures of what? Pictures don't interest me." Melnikov did not like where this was going.

"Oh, I am sure you will find these pictures very…engrossing. As will Elena Sergeevna, I think."

Now Melnikov was worried. Besides being his boss, Elena Sergeevna had been his lover for several years, since before the end of the KGB. He very much enjoyed the company of this powerful, beautiful woman who had ruthlessly clawed her way to the top ranks of the Russian intelligence services. Being her favorite also had definite advantages, for she had protected him from many threats. They understood each other perfectly. She cared not the least if he had sex with other women, as long as he followed the rules she had made clear to him. He knew exactly what she would do if he broke her rules: She would have him killed.

He was fairly certain what the pictures showed, although it was hard to imagine how they could have been taken. He thought he had taken all the precautions necessary. Had they been betrayed? Had SHE betrayed him, he wondered? Maybe she had found a younger man, and wanted him out of the way. Maybe she was more like her mother than he had thought. He needed to find out more from this man on the phone. Exactly what did he have?

"I have nothing to hide from Elena Sergeevna. I don't know what you think you have, but why don't you just send them to Elena, and we'll see what she thinks."

"Ah, Mr. Melnikov, that would not be wise. You must see the pictures first and decide for yourself. I know Elena Sergeevna very well. She is a proud and vindictive woman."

As I know all too well, groaned Melnikov to himself.

"What do you want?"

"We must meet. Then we will discuss terms."

"When, where?"

"At 10:00 at the Hotel Akkropolis."

"I cannot come at 10:00. I can only get away from our meetings during the lunch break or I will raise suspicions."

"Fine. 12:30 at the Hotel Akkropolis."


	13. Chapter 13

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 13**

When they got back to the car, Kostmayer eased himself gingerly into the back seat, and McCall took the driver's seat as Barbara sat next to him. Using the car phone, she made a call to Walter Kurz, a doctor whom she had employed in the past to take care of her people under the radar. Kurz was from Germany but had lived in Cyprus for many years. He was a very good doctor, but he preferred the substantial fees he got from people like Barbara to the smaller fees he would have made legitimately.

"Hello, Walter, this is Barbara."

"Barbara! You are in Cyprus? I heard a rumor that you were, ah, how should I put it? Retired?"

"I have someone I'd like you to look at."

"Of course. Bring your friend to my office. And…."

"Don't worry, I won't forget the cash."

"Wonderful. How soon will you be here?"

"Ten minutes."

With that, Barbara hung up, then gave McCall directions. On the way to the office, each of them considered what the next move should be. McCall was the first to speak.

"Barbara, I think you should stay with Mickey while he's getting treated. It's been some time since you used Kurz' services, and we have to make sure that he's still reliable. While you're there, I want to find out what I can about Radek – Mickey, Melnikov is Radek – where he's staying, what his position is, anything I can find out."

From the back seat, Kostmayer had whistled when McCall mentioned Radek. "He's YOUR Radek? The one who murdered Felix? Shit, I thought you had eliminated him long ago!"

"Mickey, he is not my Radek!" McCall growled. "And yes, I thought he had been neutralized long ago, too, but here he is, brought back to life, so to speak."

Barbara broke in, "We can talk about that later. We're almost at Kurz' office. What you said, Robert, I agree. You take the car. We'll meet you back here in, say, one hour?"

"Fine."

They pulled up in front of an apartment building in a middle-class district of Paphos. Nothing indicated from the outside that the building housed a doctor's office, although the neighbors probably knew. So did the police, for that matter. They knew full well what Kurz did in this building. But he was generous with his bribes, and they left him alone.

McCall helped Kostmayer out, then got back in the car, while Barbara buzzed the apartment where Kurz had his office. When she identified herself, the door opened. She and Kostmayer went into the foyer, and she gestured to her husband that he could leave.

McCall was letting Barbara out of his sight for the first time since they had left Italy. But Kostmayer was with her. If he could not be with her himself, Mickey was the one man he wanted to be watching out for the woman he loved.

As they rode up in the elevator, Kostmayer turned to Barbara and said: "How you doing, Barbara?" Despite being woozy himself, he had noticed that she was shaky on the beach. Beside McCall, Mickey was the person who knew the most about Barbara's "events". A few years ago he had been through an ordeal similar to hers, and she had eventually opened up to him about her experience. He knew why they had gone to Tuscany, and he figured that their choice to come to Cyprus had been difficult. But he wouldn't embarrass her by bringing it up.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Barbara smiled slightly and said: "Hanging in there, Mickey. Hanging in there."

Kostmayer nodded.

While the doctor was examining Kostmayer, McCall was asking one of the bellmen at the Paphos Resort which room belonged to Mr. Melnikov. The young man was all too happy to provide the information for the bills McCall proffered. For a small additional fee, he also told McCall that Melnikov had left a short time earlier. While the rest of the Russians were eating lunch, he had driven off toward the other side of the city.

McCall reckoned he had enough time to find the Russian's room and check out the security surrounding the negotiations before Radek returned. From what he had seen so far, security seemed sorely lacking. No wonder the PKK had targeted this meeting.

He found he had free access to the floor on which Radek's room was located. No guards, at least none he could see. Just in case, McCall walked right up to Radek's room and tried the door. No guards appeared. Good, he told himself. Then he went down the elevator, walked around the outside of the building and looked up at the room from outside. Still no sign of security. They must be in the hotel somewhere, McCall knew. Maybe they were concentrated near the conference rooms where the negotiations would be taking place. That was fine with him. He was not planning to go anywhere near those rooms. However, he did have to find out when Radek would be meeting with his Russian compatriots, and not in his room this afternoon. Maybe his friendly bellman?

When he returned to the lobby, McCall did not have to look far. The man popped up out of nowhere. There was nothing like a generous bribe to make friends and influence people, McCall thought with grim amusement. The bellman had to ask some of his colleagues, but he eventually got the information McCall needed. If the gentleman ever needed anything else…?

McCall looked at his watch. Time to pick up Barbara and Mickey.

While Kurz was attending to Kostmayer, Barbara took the chance to use the bathroom. What a mess, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. Not only had she gotten very wet in the cave, but her clothes had taken a beating. Her white silk shirt probably couldn't be rescued. Darn it, she thought, she really loved that shirt. She took some paper towels and rubbed the worst off the jeans. Hum, the jacket? It was also made of silk, but heavier, and it was dark blue. With a little work, she could at least make it presentable, she figured. Her shoes? Probably can't be salvaged. She almost laughed as she thought that she had forgotten how hard the game could be on nice clothes.

After Dr. Kurz had finished cleaning and bandaging Kostmayer's wounded shoulder, he gave him pain killers and advice he doubted the man would take. In his experience, this kind of man never did. "You should keep that shoulder immobilized for a few days. If you don't, the wound could open and start bleeding. You might well have a concussion, as you thought, so rest would be best for that, too."

"Thanks, doc," Kostmayer said, taking the pain meds and ignoring the rest.

"How much do we owe you?" Barbara asked.

When he named the price, Barbara looked at Kurz in disbelief. "What the hell," Barbara spit out angrily, "that's way more than you ever asked before."

"Before you were the station chief in Cyprus. Now you're, what? A rogue agent? An independent contractor? I have to cover all my bases."

She knew he had her, but she was still very angry. It was not a good idea to make Barbara angry. She filed Kurz' affront away to consider later. Perhaps she could make him regret his actions.

Lips pursed in a tight line, Barbara handed over the money.

"Come on, Mickey, let's get out of here."

McCall was waiting outside when they left the building. As they got in the car, McCall asked: "Mickey, what did he say?"

"What they always say. Cleaned the wound, gave me a sling and pain meds. I'm OK. What did you find out at the hotel?"

As McCall turned toward Barbara to tell them both what he had learned, he saw that Barbara was angry, and raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"Nothing. Just a little misunderstanding that I might have to clear up in the future."

"Ah, yes, my dear," knowing exactly what she meant.

After he reported what he had learned at the hotel, Barbara added: "The PKK has something on Radek. They will contact him and set up a meeting. Maybe they already have. He's the only way we can get to the PKK."

"Right," said McCall. "It's 1:30 now. Radek will have to be back soon, because he's got a meeting that starts at 2:00 and is supposed to be over at 3:00. Let's give Mr. Radek a little welcome party."

Kostmayer asked: "How are we going to get Radek to talk, about the PKK, I mean? Why should he tell us anything? Are we going to use force?"

"I've been thinking about that. Any ideas?"

"Well," Barbara said, "it depends on what the PKK has on him and what they want from him. I mean, it must be pretty bad if they think Radek will bite. Your dirt on him was very convincing, Robert, but he still didn't go down. Someone had to have been protecting him in the past, don't you think?"

"Yes," McCall answered, "But this time, the PKK think his protection won't work or they wouldn't even bother trying."

"I think our best bet is to help Radek with the PKK, retrieve whatever they have on him, or at least pretend to do it. He'll want to lead us to them." This was Barbara's idea.

"Sounds good to me. We kill the Kurds and take the information," Kostmayer said.

McCall said: "But first we have to get to Radek, so I suggest we get over to the hotel and put our plan in motion."


	14. Chapter 14

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 14**

Radek arrived early and parked several blocks from the run-down hotel. Old habit. He wanted to explore the area. Was there a back entrance? What was the layout of the streets around the hotel? Who was watching? Where were they?

Farhad observed him from the room on the second floor. Of course he wanted to understand what he was walking into. He would have done the same. It wasn't important.

Finally Melnikov decided to enter the hotel, and he made his way up to room eight. Farhad opened the door.

"Mr. Melnikov, come in."

Melnikov paused before entering the room, assessing the situation. Besides the man who answered the door, two others stood with automatic weapons at their sides. He himself carried a gun, but he knew he would have no chance against these three. Oh, well, let's get on with it, he thought.

"I don't have a lot of time. Let's get down to business. Show me these pictures you think are so important."

Farhad smiled. "Certainly, Mr. Melnikov." He gestured at Awramani who picked up a manila envelope from the one table in the room and handed it to the Russian.

Radek opening the envelope to find what he had expected. Pictures of him and Alexsandra Sergeevna. Some were relatively innocuous but others showed him and the 22 year old daughter of Elena in bed, making love. Shit, he thought, these ARE bad. If Elena Sergeevna were to see them, he might as well commit suicide.

Although Melnikov was trying his best to conceal his reaction, it was clear to Farhad that he had him right where he wanted him. He let the Russian sweat for several minutes.

"So, Mr. Melnikov, what do you think of our pictures? Don't you think that Elena Sergeevna would be fascinated by them?"

Radek said nothing.

"Now, we will deliver them to Elena, you can be sure of that. Unless…."

"Unless what?" Radek asked.

"Unless you smuggle a bomb into the missile negotiations."

Radek had suspected it would be something like that. He believed that these kinds of people didn't want money. They were working for what they thought of as a "higher cause." He thought they were fools. But they were smart enough to have caught him in their trap, he had to admit.

"How do you expect me to do that?"

"Easy. We put it in a briefcase. You are the head of the delegation, so nobody will suspect you. You go to the meeting with the briefcase. You put down the briefcase. The bomb explodes. If you wish to leave the meeting before the bomb explodes, that is up to you. All we care about is that it explodes."

"How do I get the pictures?"

"As you well know, Elena Sergeevna will be landing tomorrow morning at 8:30 at the private airstrip. One of my colleagues will be there. If the bomb does not explode as planned, he will hand deliver it to her. If it does explode, he will bring it back to me, and I will give it to you."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Of course, you do not. But you have no choice, do you?"

"Exactly how am I supposed to explain why I left the meeting?"

"I'm afraid that is your problem, my dear Mr. Melnikov."

Radek's head was spinning, trying to work out an angle himself out of this dilemma. No matter how he turned it, he could not find a way out. He had to agree.

"Alright. I agree. Tell me the details."

"Now you go back to the hotel. Go to your meeting with your Russian comrades. Oh, I'm sorry, they are not called comrades anymore, are they? They are, what, co-workers? Colleagues?"

Radek realized that the Kurd was taunting him, but he could do nothing.

"The official negotiations start at 9:00 AM tomorrow morning. After your meeting this afternoon, you will return to your room and wait for my call. When I call, you will go to the location I specify. We will give you the bomb. That is all there is to it."

That's all there is to it. So easy for this Kurd, Radek thought. He, Radek, was the one who had to smuggle the bomb into the meeting. He was the one who had to explain why he left the meeting just before the bomb exploded. There must be some way….

"What time will you call?" he asked in a terse voice.

"Some time before 8:30 tomorrow morning."

"I am supposed to just sit in my room waiting all night for you?"

"Yes. There is no way out, Mr. Melnikov. You will do as we ask."

Radek stared at him, wishing he could draw his weapon and put a bullet through this man's head. Instead, he opened the door and left.


	15. Chapter 15

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 15**

At about 2:30, McCall parked the Mercedes in the hotel garage. Kostmayer chose a weapon from the stash in the trunk. Since one of the Kurds might recognize him, he was to come up to the room only once Barbara and McCall were already in.

McCall went up first. It took him less than a minute to open the door. He took a chair, sat, and waited.

At the side of the lobby, there was a small hotel café. Barbara sat at one of the tables, ordered and paid for coffee, and waited. From here she could see the doors to the conference room where Radek was meeting with his Russian colleagues, as well as the elevator, and the stairs. Right after 3:00, the meeting room doors opened, and the Russians left the room. All of them but Radek turned toward the bar. Radek walked toward the elevator. Barbara got up and made her way to the elevator, too.

Radek was nervous about the PKK and the pictures, but not too nervous to notice the woman who got into the elevator with him. Although she was neither young nor particularly beautiful, she piqued his interest. Something about how she carried herself reminded him of Elena. Just before they got to their floor, she started rummaging around in her large purse, probably looking for her key. Why women carried such large purses he did not know. They never could find anything in them. As the door opened and he stepped back to let her go first, she gestured for him to go on because she was still trying to find her key. Smiling smugly, he went first and walked down the hall to his room, key in hand.

Barbara followed. As he opened his door, she caught up with him, placing her gun in his back and pushing him into the room. With Barbara covering him, McCall stepped forward, opened Radek's jacket and removed his weapon. A look of utter astonishment crossed the man's face.

"Hello, Radek." McCall said.

"MacCall, what the hell are you doing here?" He never said McCall's name correctly, although he certainly could. His mispronunciation was left over from their earlier verbal jousts.

"I could ask you the same thing. After what happened in New York, I thought you would be spending your winters in Siberia, not on Cyprus." Stony faced, he motioned with his gun toward the chair next to the table. "Sit down."

Barbara holstered her weapon. She really did not like carrying it in her purse; you could always lose your purse. But she knew that Radek could have spotted the gun under her blazer, if he had been paying attention, so the purse it had been. When he sat, she picked up the phone and called Kostmayer in the car, telling him they were ready.

Radek regained his composure.

"Ah, let me guess, this is the new Mrs. MacCall. I remember hearing some time ago that you had married. At the time I thought you were crazy, but after meeting her, I understand completely."

"What a compliment, given the source," Barbara said sarcastically.

In the garage, Kostmayer crossed the asphalt, entered the stairwell and climbed to Radek's floor. He couldn't see that a man was watching from behind a car some distance away. After Kostmayer left the garage, the man jumped in his car and drove out of the garage. He was in a great hurry.

A couple of minutes later, Kostmayer was at the door. He knocked softly, and Barbara let him in.

"Everything OK?" she asked.

"Far as I know," was his answer.

McCall told Kostmayer to tie Radek to the chair. Radek protested that he would certainly not be running away, but Kostmayer did as McCall asked. Once he was secured, McCall put away his gun, and he and Barbara took the two other chairs at the table where Radek was sitting. Kostmayer sat on the sofa.

"Radek, we need to have a little talk," McCall began. "About the PKK."

Again, Radek was astonished. How did they know about the PKK?

"MacCall, I don't know what you're talking about."

Kostmayer looked at McCall, raising his eyebrows. Want me to hurt him, was the unposed question. McCall put his hand up, indicating to wait.

McCall got up and walked deliberately around to Radek's chair. Putting his left hand on the table, he bent down to look Radek in the eye. With his other hand, lifted the lapel of Radek's suit and felt the cloth.

"Radek, I could let my colleague here ruin your suit with your blood. That would be such a shame because it is really a very nice suit indeed. Or, we could simply cut to the chase. We know that Abdul Farhad has some information that you would rather not have made public. We also know what that means: They want you do something for them. Given the PKK's usual methods, my guess is that they want you to smuggle a bomb into the conference."

Although Radek tried to conceal his reaction, McCall realized that he was right on target.

"Radek, I think you're getting old. That was far too easy," he mocked his old adversary. McCall returned to his chair.

For his part, Radek didn't much care what McCall thought. The Russian was thinking fast. He understood that McCall's first priority would be to stop the bombing, because he could not stand to see so-called innocent people killed. As if the people in that meeting were innocent, was his reaction! But how could he use this weakness of McCall's to his advantage?

"Alright, MacCall, let's talk. Would you please take these stupid ropes off?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 16**

Awramani drove as fast as possible back to their meeting place. He had been shocked to see Kostmayer in the garage. When he got to the hotel that was their new headquarters, he ran up the stairs and pulled open the door to their room. That bit of unconsidered action almost got him killed. As it was, Farhad gave him a dangerous look. But it was nothing compared to the black look on the man's face when he was told the news about Kostmayer.

Why didn't I follow my instincts, Farhad reproached himself? Now all their plans were in jeopardy. Kostmayer had heard on the phone from the dead American spy that they had something on Melnikov. When Awramani had seen him, Kostmayer was on his way up the stairs leading up the Russian's room. Not good, Farhad judged.

It was about 4:00. They had until tomorrow morning to assess and change plans if they decided it was necessary. Enough time, he thought. He would figure something out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 17**

Radek had decided to tell them almost everything. There were three of them. Perhaps they could kill the Kurds and retrieve his pictures before it went any further. He didn't actually believe this would happen, but he saw no reason not to try. He also didn't actually believe they would return his pictures without making copies, but he decided he would deal with that later.

"So, Radek, are you ready to tell us what's going on?" asked Barbara. Robert was able to wait much more patiently than she could.

"My dear Mrs. MacCall…."

"My name is not Mrs. McCall," Barbara cut in. "It is Dr. Williams."

"Oh, I see. My dear DOCTOR Williams," he said with a smirk, "yes, I am prepared to speak with you about this matter."

McCall and Barbara exchanged wary glances. Was this too easy?

"It is like you said. The PKK are in possession of certain pictures I do not want revealed to, well, let's say, a person who might take great offense. They have asked me to collect a bomb from them some time between now and tomorrow morning, take the bomb to the conference room, and leave it. One of them will be waiting with the pictures at the airport for this person to arrive. If the bomb explodes, he will return the photos. If the bomb does not explode, he will hand deliver the pictures to this person. That is all."

They had guessed most of this.

"You really think they will give you the pictures back, just like that? You're not that much of a fool, Radek," McCall jeered.

"No, MacCall, I am not a fool. But I have no other choice."

"And now, we are going to give you another choice. It is your lucky day," Barbara gave him an empty smile.

"What are you offering?"

McCall looked at him coldly: "We're offering to save your life, now aren't we? Not something I ever thought I'd do, but…."

Now it was Radek's turn to jeer, "But you have no other choice," he said with satisfaction.

Through gritted teeth, McCall replied: "Yes, yes indeed." After a pause he asked: "What exactly is the plan from here on?"

"Just as I told you. I am to wait here for their call. It will come some time between now and around 8:00 AM tomorrow. I must collect the bomb, bring it back to the hotel, set it down, and get out before it explodes."

"What kind of detonation device will it have? How do you know that it will not explode while you have it?"

"No idea. I guess I just have to trust Farhad," Radek said with a grim smile.

McCall looked at his watch. 5:00. There was nothing they could do until the Kurd called.

"Robert, let's talk," Barbara said, standing up and walking toward the second room.

Leaving Kostmayer to keep an eye on Radek, McCall and Barbara went into the other room, shut the door, and sat on the bed.

"This is what I think we should do," Barbara began. "We wait til they call. Then, you, Mickey and Radek drive to their location and play it by ear. If there's no other way, and Radek has to take the bomb, either you and Mickey can disarm it, or you'll have to get rid of it another way. While you're doing that, I'll go to the airfield and find the other PKK guy with the pictures. I can intercept him, kill him, whatever, get the pictures, make copies, and bring the originals to Radek at the hotel."

Getting up, McCall walked over to the sliding glass door that led out to the suite's balcony. He gazed out at the ocean, mulling over her plan. It sounded good, except for one thing. She would be working alone. Neither he nor Mickey could go with her because there were too many variables in meeting with the PKK, dealing with Radek and whatever they might encounter. It would take two of them. Plus they had to be ready to defuse the bomb. She had to work alone.

"Robert, I know what you're thinking," Barbara said, now standing behind him. She leaned her cheek against his back and circled her arms around his waist. All of a sudden she realized she was very tired. And, funny, very hungry.

"I don't want you to go alone." McCall whispered.

Speaking quietly, she began: "You know, when I think back on what I did all those years in the Agency, sometimes it seems that it wasn't all that bad. But this reminds me exactly how bad it was. In everything we did, we never seemed to have any choice." Dropping her arms, she turned and sat on the bed, head in her hands. Then she lifted her head and said heatedly: "We have no choice, do we? Damn it, Robert, I want to control my OWN life. Not some bastard PKK terrorists. Not them or that man in New York, or…some fucking drug whose name I don't even know."

McCall continued to stare out at the ocean. He wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say. That is exactly how it had always been. Unless they carried out this operation, innocent people would die, the free world would be lost, what ever line was being preached for the catastrophe of the week, or month, or year. For a long time he had believed in what he did. Then, gradually, his faith had eroded, until he realized one day that it had disappeared. That's when he got out. On different stages with different actors – but the same director -- it was the same with her.

The fact was that today, they HAD no choice, not if they were going to avert a disaster. Turning away from the glass door, he walked back to Barbara and sat next to her on the bed. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"I'm tired, Robert. And hungry. Can we get something to eat? Then I'd really like to get some sleep."

He was tired and hungry, too. It had been a very long day. He was getting too old for this. "Yes. We can stay here tonight, order room service while we wait."

An hour later, after the meal was over, they had to decide arrangements for the night. McCall thought Mickey and Barbara should sleep first while he kept an eye on Radek, but there was an awkward moment when they had to work out where all this sleeping would take place. There was only one bed, in the other room. Kostmayer volunteered to sleep on the floor, but Barbara insisted that he take the bed. And share it with her.

"You don't think I am going to sleep on the floor, do you?" she asked, with lifted brow and a smile on her face.

With a mock stern look at Kostmayer, McCall said: "Mickey, I expect you to stay one foot from my wife at all times. I will be checking. Any closer and…."

Poor Mickey, they were embarrassing him. "Hey, McCall, I said I can sleep on the floor…."

Barbara rescued him. "Come on, Mickey, let's go."

While they got themselves settled, McCall sat at the table, looking at Radek. He wanted to ask how the Russian had wiggled out of the trap seven years ago, but decided against it. It was just too long ago. Instead he asked: "What's on those pictures, Radek?"

"MacCall, wouldn't you like to know." Radek changed the subject. "Amazing, you let your wife sleep in the same bed with another man. I would never allow it."

"Have you ever HAD a wife?"

"No. Why should I?"

"Ah, yes, of course."

That was the end of the conversation. By the time Kostmayer relieved him around 1:00 AM, McCall had to admit that he was bone tired. Thank goodness Kostmayer looked much better. The sleep and food had done him good. Oh, to be that young again, McCall thought fleetingly. But no, I don't want to go back to a time before Barbara.

"Barbara will relieve you at 4:00." McCall told Kostmayer.

"Na, Robert, just let her sleep. I'm OK."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Kostmayer took up his position and settled down for the rest of the night. Radek was asleep on the sofa.

McCall went into the bedroom and closed the door. Barbara was sleeping. It didn't appear that she was having any of the nightmares that had plagued her recently, on top of the "events." He slipped into the bed, trying not to disturb her.

In her sleep, Barbara knew it was Robert who was lying in the bed now. She turned and moved closer. They slept.


	18. Chapter 18

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 18**

At 7:30 the phone rang. They were all awake and dressed, ready to act. Radek answered. It was Farhad. He was given directions, then he hung up. The others looked at him expectantly.

"I am to come to room nine at the Hotel Alexis, about a mile from here. Farhad will give me the bomb, and the rest will go as arranged."

"This is what we are going to do." Barbara outlined the plan she and McCall had worked out last night.

"You'll have to take Radek's car. Do you have a phone?" Radek shook his head, no. "Well, it makes it more difficult, but Robert, you will have to find a way to call me in the Mercedes."

McCall nodded. Then she turned to Kostmayer. "Describe the other two Kurds. I must be able to identify the one at the airfield."

Although he hadn't gotten a good look at them, Kostmayer described Zebari and Awramani as best he could.

That was it.

McCall, Kostmayer, and Radek retrieved the Russian's car from the garage. It was only a short drive to the hotel. McCall and Kostmayer got out a few blocks away. This time, Radek parked right in front of the hotel. No reason for caution, now. He knew his enemy. At least he thought he did.

As he stepped out of his car, a bullet hit him in the middle of the head, killing him instantly.

"What the hell?" called out Kostmayer, who had just turned the corner as Radek went down. He had his weapon drawn, but he could see nothing.

"Mickey, roof!" McCall, on the other side of the street, had seen the shooter for just a second.

Kostmayer took off, cursing his bad arm and woozy head. People all around were screaming. As McCall crossed the street, his gun drawn, another shot ricocheted off the concrete as passers-by ducked for cover. He still couldn't get a clear view, so he kept going, following Kostmayer into the hotel. Rather than taking the same stairs as Kostmayer, he turned to the shocked receptionist and asked if there was another way to the roof. Yes, there are stairs, in back, the man told him. Sometimes you just have to be lucky, McCall thought to himself. He ran out the back door, to the stairs and started climbing; again, he thought that he was too old for this.

On the roof, Farhad had been considering his options. He had expected Kostmayer, but not the other man. The other diminished his odds. Down on the street, a crowd was gathering around the dead Russian. He had not anticipated being caught on the roof; he was to have killed Kostmayer and been on his way by now. Bad planning, Abdul, he chastised himself. Maybe fatally bad planning.

Just then, Kostmayer flung open the door from the inside stairs, firing as he ran onto the roof. Farhad returned fire, and the American ducked behind a ventilation shaft. Taking his opportunity, the Kurd sprinted across the roof, arriving at the other stairs just as McCall reached the top. McCall was looking right into Farhad's gun barrel. Recoiling, McCall stumbled back and almost fell.

Bloody hell, McCall thought. At that moment, Kostmayer fired, and Farhad fell. Composing himself, McCall climbed onto the roof, went over to Farhad and felt for a pulse. Nothing.

He looked at Kostmayer.

"Thank you, Mickey."

"Nothing at all, McCall."

"We'd better get moving. Come on, let's check out their room," McCall said. They could hear police sirens in the distance. They had to get out of here before the police arrived.

On their way down the front stairs, Kostmayer asked: "What do you think is going on? Why would they kill Radek?"

"For some reason, they decided they didn't need him anymore. One of the others must have the bomb because I'm damned well sure they didn't abort their plans." Bloody hell, McCall swore to himself. Barbara was out there alone, and their plans were in complete disarray.

The sirens were getting closer as they broke into room number nine. Bomb making materials lay strewn on the table. McCall knew a lot about bombs, but Kostmayer was the real expert; he loved bombs. Surveying the materials on the table, they figured it out at the same time.

"There's a remote detonator," McCall said.

Kostmayer looked at him: "Yep," he said grimly, rummaging through a tangle of wires and other detritus. After a minute or so he said: "Probably the size of a small box, like a pack of cigarettes. Range about two miles."

This was getting very complicated, McCall thought. He took a deep breath. "Alright. The man at the airfield has to have the remote. We've got to let Barbara know."

The first police car was arriving at the chaotic scene in front of the hotel. McCall picked up the phone and called Barbara in the Mercedes, keeping his voice calm.

"There's been a change in plans. Radek is dead. So is Farhad. One of the other Kurds has the bomb, I assume at the hotel. The man at the airfield has a remote control device. It's in a small box, the size of a pack of cigarettes."

Barbara said nothing.

"We're heading back to the hotel to find the one with the bomb. You have to disable the remote at the airfield."

"I'll take care of it." Barbara hung up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 19**

When she got the call, Barbara was turning into the parking area at the small airstrip where they had landed yesterday. It seemed like eons ago, but it was less than twenty-four hours.

Between the hotel and the airstrip, it had begun to overtake her, the… whenever she tried to describe it, words failed her. Somehow she was half here and half gone, as if she were being sucked out from the space around her and moved away, to that place she feared more than anything. The fear set her heart racing even faster.

Getting out of the car, she told herself that she only had to hang on for a few more minutes. Surely it would not take long to find the Kurd. There were very few people at the airstrip. All she had to do was kill him, find the remote detonator and disarm it. That's all. In her life before the drug, this would have been relatively simple. Now, she wasn't sure. Her hands were trembling, and her palms were sweating. She leaned back against the car and closed her eyes.

She had no choice. Once again, no choice. But, wait, which…? She was so confused. Whenever the full effect of the drug hit her, she knew she had no choice, she had to give in to the drug. But here, now, she also had no choice, she had to find and kill the Kurd, or everyone would die. It didn't make sense. How could both be real? Barbara, you're getting totally muddled, she told herself. Back on track, focus, she implored herself with a shake of the head. Stop trying to figure it out, just do something.

Looking around, she remembered that since this was a private field, there was only a small office. Go in and ask someone something. She went in and asked the clerk what planes would be landing soon. A private jet would be landing in about five minutes, at 8:30. That's the one, she thought. The one with the person Radek had not wanted to see the pictures. Am I remembering right? Yes…?

Leaving the office, she scanned the area. Where is he? Passengers were boarding a small plane to the left of the office. In the middle was the runway. To the right was a fuel tanker. Where is he? She tried to concentrate. Her heart was pounding harder, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to think logically. Oh my God, where is he? I have to find him NOW, she implored herself. She felt the fingers of panic weave their way through her brain.

Then she saw him. He had been standing behind the fuel tanker, but moved in front of the truck to watch the plane start its landing pattern. He held a manila envelope in his hands. Normally, God, how long ago had she been normal, she wondered, she could have dropped him where he stood, but she knew she couldn't now. She had to get closer. From experience she knew that most men, even a trained terrorist, simply dismissed women like her, so he would probably not register her presence. Lucky, for her at least.

Circling around the right side of the airfield, she was able to come up behind him. He had not noticed her. Just as the plane touched down, she took out her gun and aimed. She saw that her hands were shaking. They seemed like someone else's hands. No, don't look at your hands, focus, she instructed herself. She had one shot. If she missed, or only wounded him, he could activate the detonator before she got to him. Steady your hands. You can do it. Just this one shot.

She pulled the trigger, and the man dropped to the ground. Holding her gun in front of her, she ran to where he lay. Damn, she told herself, off by too much, but good enough; he was clearly dead. She collapsed to her knees in relief. But she could not stop now. After removing his weapon, she fumbled through his pockets looking for the detonator. She found it.

Examining the small box, panic took stronger hold. Was she supposed to pull the red wire or the blue? Which one? The blue, it's the blue, yes, it's the blue, she asked herself? She pulled the blue. If it had set off the bomb, she would have heard it. No bomb. Still on her knees, she dropped her head into her hands and closed her eyes. Now she didn't have to resist anymore.


	20. Chapter 20

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 20**

Awramani arrived at the airstrip a few minutes after 8:30. It had taken longer than expected to find the right place for the bomb, so he was late. A private jet had just landed, and the passengers were deplaning. He was supposed to meet Zebari in the office, but he wasn't there. Leaving the office, he searched the field from left to right; then he spotted him, lying in a pool of blood, a woman on her knees next to him. The detonator lay open on the ground. Zebari dead and the detonator disabled? All their plans for nothing.

Drawing his gun, he ran toward the woman on the ground. But before he could get in position, the passengers from the plane reached her. There was nothing he could do. Holstering his gun, he turned and walked away.


	21. Chapter 21

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 21**

"Hello, Barbara. I think you have something that belongs to me." Barbara couldn't recognize the voice.

"Barbara? Are you ill?"

With a great effort, she opened her eyes. A man moved in front of her and lifted her up. Then the woman was there, too.

"Barbara, it's Elena Sergeevna. Let me have the pictures."

Elena Serveevna? What was she doing here, Barbara wondered? Actually, Barbara wasn't sure anymore where here was. She looked vacantly around the airfield, down at the dead man, and then realized she had picked up an envelope and was holding it tightly in her hands. She gave it to Elena.

"Thank you. Now, will you tell me why you felt the need to kill the man who was bringing me these pictures, Barbara?"

Barbara looked blankly at her. Why? She looked down and saw the detonator. Yes.

"There is a bomb."

One of Elena's men picked up the defused detonator and showed it to the Russian woman.

"A bomb? Where?"

It was too much. She couldn't answer. Barbara closed her eyes. She knew where she was going, and she didn't want to go, but she had to. She had no choice.

What is going on, Elena Sergeevna asked herself, annoyed. Why was Barbara Williams here in Cyprus? At this airfield? She was aware that Williams had recently married Robert McCall, which meant that McCall was probably somewhere on the island as well. She certainly did not want Robert McCall mixed up in her business, no matter that he was supposed to be "retired".

Plus, what in heaven's name was wrong with Williams, she wanted to know?

"Get her in the car. We'll take her back with us to the hotel. You, dispose of that body. We don't want the local police getting involved."

In the car, Elena opened the envelope. When she saw the pictures, she inhaled sharply, then said under her breath, "He is a dead man," not knowing how right she was. What she would do with the girl, she didn't know yet.


	22. Chapter 22

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 22**

Since Radek's car was in the middle of a police investigation, McCall and Kostmayer had to take a taxi. Blast, the man drove slowly, McCall thought. He waved a few bills in front of his nose and told him to speed it up. It was 8:40, and the negotiations were scheduled to start at 9:00.

When they got to the hotel five minutes later, Kostmayer asked McCall: "Do you think she got him?"

"Yes. Yes, she got him, and she got the detonator," he replied, looking at his friend. He had to trust her.

As they were entering the hotel, a limousine pulled up to the curb. Elena Sergeevna stepped out and immediately saw McCall. She sighed.

"Well, Robert McCall, how are you?"

McCall spun around and saw the Russian spymaster. Ah, yes, now it all fell into place. He knew about Radek's long time relationship with Elena. The pictures. Of course.

"Elena Sergeevna," he said, keeping the surprise from registering on his face.

"Robert, I just had the most fascinating experience. I met your new wife. Well, naturally, I have known her for many years, but not as your wife."

McCall's face went blank, but his stomach was churning.

"Yes, and she told me something about a bomb at the hotel? Would you know anything about that?" Elena was enjoying this, especially since she knew Barbara had already disabled the detonator.

"Where is she?" McCall asked with an ominous threat in his voice.

"Why, Robert, she's right here," Elena said, pointing to the car. "But don't you think we should discuss the bomb?"

McCall pushed Elena aside. Her aide tried to stop him, but Kostmayer shoved his gun in the man's back: "I don't think so." Elena motioned for her man to move away, and Kostmayer pulled back his gun. She wasn't going to take this too far. Besides, they were standing outside the hotel where the negotiations were to start in, what, ten minutes?

In the limo McCall found Barbara on the back seat. Oh, my God, it's happening again, he could see.

"Barbara." He shook her gently. "Barbara, it's Robert."

Barbara was not there. She did not hear him. She was in a room in a prison in a country that didn't exist anymore.

Backing out of the limo, he turned to Elena.

"What happened?" he snapped.

"We found her at the airport. She had killed the man who was bringing me my photos – you do know about the photos?"

Nodding, McCall demanded: "What about the detonator, did she get the detonator?"

Elena softened her tone and touched his arm. "Yes, of course, Robert. She is one of the best. I am sorry she is ill."

Had she taunted or mocked him, McCall would have exploded. Instead, her words brought tears to his eyes.

McCall made up his mind. Enough. Let Elena find the bomb. If Kostmayer wanted to stay, fine, he could do what he wanted. He, McCall, wanted Barbara on the jet and on her way to Tuscany.

Motioning to Kostmayer, he walked a few yards away.

"Mickey, Barbara and I are leaving. If you want to stay, stay. It's over for us."

Kostmayer was tired, and he hurt all over. He wanted to help Barbara get home. The third terrorist could be in the hotel or already half way back to where ever he came from. Two of the PKK operatives were dead. Maybe he had to accept that he wouldn't get the other one. At least not now.

"Robert, it's over for me, too. Do you want me to call Murphy to get the jet ready?

"Yes." McCall said, relief clear in his voice.

As Kostmayer moved away, McCall added: "And Mickey," he paused. He didn't know how to say what he really wanted to, so he just said: "Thank you."

With a two fingered salute and a nod, Kostmayer went to make the phone call.

Returning to the car, McCall spoke to Elena: "Elena Sergeevna, I have a favor to ask of you." She smiled faintly, raising her eyebrows in a question. "I need to get Barbara back to the airstrip, but our car is still there. Would you please have your driver take us?"

The Russian woman considered. For many years Robert McCall and Barbara Williams had been locked with her and her comrades in a battle to the death, the deepest of enemies. On the other hand, Barbara had risked her life to make sure that their meeting would not be bombed. Why, Elena was not quite sure. Weren't the Americans on the other side in this particular dance? Oh, what the hell, she decided?

"Certainly, Robert."

She instructed her driver to take them where ever they wanted to go. She had a bomb to find. It was her responsibility now. As she turned to go, McCall touched her on the shoulder: "Thank you, Elena Sergeevna."


	23. Chapter 23

**Return to Cyprus**

**Chapter 23**

An hour later, they were airborne, on their way back to Tuscany. Murphy had proved capable this one time. The jet was ready quickly. He didn't ask too many questions, either.

Thank goodness the jet had two beds. They settled Barbara in one. McCall sat next to her, watching her carefully. Kostmayer was sleeping on the other.

It looked like she was asleep, too, but he knew better. She did not rest peacefully. Ten years ago in that prison, they did terrible things to her. She had survived. But the damnable drug forced open the room in her mind where she had carefully locked away her memories of rape and torture, then amplified it all, unleashing demons of imagination that made the terrible far worse.

She moaned and twisted one way, then the other, trying futilely to escape the devils in her head.

She had forgiven him. But would he ever forgive himself? Looking up, he could see his face reflected in the window. Never.


End file.
